Six - Lunch Date

Amanda, I believe her name was, sits across from me staring deeply into her clam chowder. She bobs her spoon up and down in the soup, making tiny waves. I have a sudden urge to reach across the table and throw the spoon out the window. She continues to not eat, as I move my attention out the window.

There’s a group of young teenagers standing against a wall. Blank faces stare into nothing as their mouths move in mumbles and incoherent words. I picture them talking about losing their virginity to their fathers and how much they hate him. But yet, the continue to warm his bed every other night just because. I picture the father -- fat, hairy -- moving his hand up their thighs until his tongue touches their velvet center. They cry saddened, hated tears as he darts the tongue in and out for his own pleasure. I picture him climbing on top of them and pushing himself into their small vaginas, laughing as they scream out in pain. “You’re dreaming.” I return my eyes to find Amanda looking straight at me. Her blonde hair is covering her right eye as she stares into me.

I attempt to smile and fail. “I was just… watching… those, um, girls.”

“Turning you on, Josh.” The way she said my name makes me want to slap her. But the feeling quickly passes and I stare at a pile of napkins the waiter has left on our table. I reach out for one, but stop half way and sit back. I look out the window at the girls, picture their father, and then return to Amanda.

“No.”

She pulls out a cigarette but doesn’t light it. She places it between her lips, and searches through her rather large purse. Receipts are pulled out and thrown on the table, some falling in her clam chowder. “Why are you even back in Vegas? I thought you were working on a solo cd or something. Justin has one. It’s alright.”

“You actually listened to his shit? I thought it sucked.” I stare out the window. The girls are gone. “I should write a song about sex. That would be fun.”

“You suck at fucking. Why write about something you know nothing about?” She tries to light the cigarette with a candle sitting on the table. She burns her nose somehow instead.

“I was lonely.” I stand up from the table, throwing a hundred in ones down, along with a five hundred poker chip from the Stratosphere. “Please buy a lighter.” I kiss her forehead before leaving the restaurant. I drive down The Strip in search of some fun. Instead I, luckily, find a hooker that’s willing to fuck without a condom.